


Like Smoke In These Sand Dunes

by Nellie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Military, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellie/pseuds/Nellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Arthur was a Captain and Eames was a Lieutenant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Smoke In These Sand Dunes

It’s day twenty-eight out of twenty-eight. No more New Mexico sun, no more living out of a tent, no more fucking sand. Eames should be ecstatic. But he’s not, and the reason is leaning nonchalantly against the back of his jeep.

Even with the cigarette between his lips and the pristine green lines of his uniform, Arthur looks far too young for the double silver bars on his lapel. Eames told him as much on day three, and had been written up for his trouble.

Arthur had still been there as the sun set on day four, sitting on the tray of the jeep and holding out a pack of cigarettes for him to take one.

“Captain,” Eames says, sitting on the edge of the tray and fishing his smokes out of a leg pocket.

Arthur’s in the middle of a drag and it’s deceptive, really, how graceful his fingers are. Like he should be an artist, or a musician. Which he almost is anyway; Eames has spent the last month watching those slim hands field strip M-16s and reload Berettas with all the finesse of a virtuoso performer. He leans his elbow on the edge of the jeep and blows smoke in Eames’s face. “Lieutenant. Your vehicle is parked in the evac zone,” he flicks ash onto the ground, “again.”

Eames laughs, lighting his own cigarette and throwing the pack and the lighter down on the tray beside him. “Glorified parking police, that’s all you’ve been on this exercise.” It’s a lie and they both know it. “Are you going to write me up?”

“I could.”

“But you won’t.” He rests his own elbow on the edge of the tray just next to Arthur’s, not quite touching.

Arthur gives him a sideways look over his hand, and his next exhale is careful, measured, smoke curling from his nose. “No,” he says finally. “You’ll be out of my jurisdiction in less than twenty-four hours, anyway.”

It’s true, and Eames really shouldn’t be disliking the idea of not seeing the acerbic MP every day as much as he is.

They smoke in silence for a few minutes as the shadows grow longer against the gravel. Eames sighs, dropping the butt of his cigarette and crushing it beneath his heel before pulling another from the pack. “Better move this then.” He stands up slowly, glancing around before clapping a hand down on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s been a pleasure, Captain.” Another glance around, and he leans in, close enough to feel the warmth of Arthur’s breath when his mouth falls open just a little bit, close enough to hear the way his breathing picks up. Eames lifts his cigarette, takes a drag, and figures if Arthur hasn’t punched him yet then he’s probably read him right.

Their lips don’t touch as he blows warm smoke into Arthur’s mouth, but it’s a close thing. He feels the tiniest hint of Arthur’s tongue as he licks his lips.

It’s a dangerous game, and he’s smart enough to know when to back away.

He sees Arthur salute in the rear-vision mirror as he drives away, and yeah, he’d definitely have put up with another month of heat and sand for that.

(It’ll be four years before they see each other again, a PASIV on the table between them. Later, Eames will ask him if he still smokes. Arthur will say yes.)


End file.
